Cuddle Up A Little Closer
by MinervaDeannaBond
Summary: Ties that bind are no laughing matter when Martha shows off a pair of handcuffs - and chains herself to Violet.
1. Dueling Dowagers

It's been a while since I ventured to Downton, but I thought I'd pay the Crawleys another visit - and bring Martha along for the ride. In this little tale, set a day or two after Mary and Matthew left for their honeymoon, Martha is showing off a present of hers to Robert and Cora - and it's not long before Violet gets in on it and a fight ensues. Put quite simply, this is the result of watching the _Duck Dynasty _episode "Si-amese Twins" and the _I Love Lucy _episode "The Handcuffs," both of which were my inspiration.

* * *

"Mother, what are you going to do with those?"

"You never know when some creep may break in. After all, nobody can do anything when their hands are tied."

"Or cuffed, in this instance."

Martha Levinson chuckled at her son-in-law's dry observance. "See, Cora? Robert understands the method behind my madness."

"The method I understand perfectly, Mother; the madness, I cannot even begin to fathom," Robert quipped, easing himself down on the settee in the library, where he, his wife, and his mother-in-law were all gathered.

Rather than take umbrage, Martha cackled heartily. "Let's pray you never do. You would be absolutely terrified at some of the goings-on in my mind."

"Right now, _I'm _terrified of what you may be planning to do with those things," Cora said, casting a wary eye upon the gleaming silver handcuffs dangling from her mother's hands. "Where did you find them, anyway?"

"I stole them from the warden on my last jailbreak." Martha laughed when Cora buried her face in her hands. "I'm only kidding; these were a gift from my friend Anthony DeSilva. He's a lieutenant in the New York Police Department."

Cora peered between her fingers. "Mother, please tell me you weren't arrested for anything," she pleaded.

"Sweetheart, please. The last time I was under arrest, your brother Harold and I were playing cowboys and Indians when he was four years old. Little pint-sized sheriff that he was, he grabbed my wrist and said, 'You're under awwest, you bad Indian!' That was my first and only run-in with the law."

"Then why did a New York police officer give you a pair of handcuffs?"

"He probably mistook her for a streetwalker. Though given the way she dresses, it's no small wonder."

All heads turned just in time to see Violet Crawley, Dowager Countess of Grantham, sweep in, her purple gown billowing about her as she moved. "Mama, please!" Robert said, tossing his mother a slight glare. "Apologize."

"Very well." Violet took a seat beside her son and, fixing her eyes on her American opposite, said, "I'm sorry you dress like a streetwalker."

Ignoring Robert's hissed "_Mama!_", Martha smiled coolly at Violet. "Not as sorry as I am that you still use that corset to hold in the extra weight, Violet."

"Why not," Robert cut in, before Violet could spit a nasty barb in return, "tell us about your gentleman friend, if he is indeed that."

This was a surprise to Cora. "Mother, are you… involved with Lieutenant DeSilva?"

Martha held up a hand. "Take a deep breath, my dear. It's not what you think. He's a perfectly lovely man, but aside from the occasional drink, we're just good friends. We met outside of Macy's, when some idiot tried to mug me of the mink coat I'd just bought. Fortunately, Tony was right across the street and came dashing over to help when he saw the fracas. Once I'd given that thief a good whack with my purse, Tony cuffed him and ordered his partner to take him away. I insisted on buying Tony a drink to thank him for his help, and he gave me the handcuffs in return. 'So you can catch a thief in style,' he told me."

Violet smirked. "Style, indeed. Undoubtedly, he thought it cheaper than purchasing a pair of silver bracelets from the nearest jeweler's shop."

"It's called prison silver, Violet," Martha said, shaking the cuffs in the Dowager Countess's direction. "Don't knock it 'til you've tried it."

"And why would I _want _to try it? If, heaven forbid, I had an admirer, I would expect him to gift me with a diamond ring at the very least."

"Sure, to go with the silver spoon in your mouth. Violet, just admit it; you're afraid of looking ridiculous."

Violet narrowed her eyes. "I am not afraid of looking ridiculous, I simply take great pains to avoid it. And I fail to see the connection to silver and jewelry."

Martha shook her head, a grin slowly splitting her face. "That's not the point. You came in here armed with insults because you knew I'd look ridiculous if I ever dared to snap these things on my own wrists, or if I was chained to someone else. Fine, I'd look ridiculous. I know how to laugh at myself. But if the same thing happened to you, you would be throwing a fit because everyone would laugh at you."

"And if I did? Unlike some people in this room, I don't enjoy being the butt of jokes."

"That's a shame, considering you've got enough butt for the job," Martha wisecracked.

Robert and Cora each sucked in a breath. Whatever was about to come was definitely not going to be pretty, as Violet loathed any kind of remark about that particular part of her body. Sure enough, the Dowager Countess rose from the settee and took a menacing step forward, her blue eyes blazing. "Take that back!"

Martha raised her chin, a smile teasing her scarlet-rouged lips. "I'd love to see you make me."

"Be careful, _Mrs. Levinson,_" Violet warned, advancing even further on her rival. "I just might."

"Ooh, what are you going to do? Call in one of the footmen to beat me up because you're too prissy to do it yourself?" Martha's aquamarine eyes glittered as she hissed the next word. "_Chicken._"

That tore it. One moment, Violet was a respectable aristocrat in purple silk; the next, she was a wildcat launching herself at her adversary. Cora gasped and threw her hands over her mouth and Robert cried out in outrage as their mothers threw themselves down onto the floor and, in the barest of layman's terms, began beating the tar out of each other, rolling around in a tangle of arms, legs, and emerald and amethyst silk. Curses and insults cracked the air as the fists continued to fly.

"Mother! Mama!" Cora cried, leaping up from the couch, but not daring to approach the brawling women on the floor for fear she might be next.

"STOP THIS AT ONCE!" Robert shouted, unleashing his earl's authority and bravely stepping toward the whirl of fabrics and limbs. "Both of you, break it up, NOW!" He put his hands between the two of them and attempted to pull them apart – but not before a loud _click _rent the air and called silence better than any command. The Earl and Countess of Grantham, as well as Carson, who had come rushing in upon hearing the racket, stopped dead and stared at the women with their jaws dangling, hardly daring to believe what was before their eyes.

Martha Levinson had handcuffed herself to Violet Crawley.


	2. Stuck With You

Last time, our two favorite dowagers got into a royal catfight, in which Martha handcuffed herself to Violet. Now, for a few reactions to the predicament...

* * *

It was Carson who found his voice first. "What the... devil..." he said incredulously, hawklike brows arced in shock as he gazed upon the two dowagers – both of whom were still on the library floor and a comical sight to behold. Violet's elaborate bun had come loose so that several strands of iron-gray hair hung about her face, her hat had been knocked clean off her head, and her gown was in complete disarray. Martha was likewise sporting a rumpled frock and her silver headpiece was dangling from one ear, but otherwise, she was right as rain, grinning rather wickedly at Violet, holding up their cuffed hands.

As neither woman was offering some form of explanation as to their appearances, Carson turned inquiring eyes upon Robert. "My lord? Dare I even ask what has happened here?"

"Honestly, Carson, I think the only logical explanation is that the world has gone completely mad," said the earl, glowering down at the two women. "Or at least my mother has; my mother-in-law has always been madder than a March hare."

"Oh Robert, you say the sweetest things," Martha said, flashing him a grin.

Violet cut her eyes in her rival's direction. "Trust me, he did not mean it as a compliment," she said loftily, pulling herself back up onto her feet and bending double when Martha remained firmly parked on the floor. "Get up."

"Beg me."

"I do not beg, and certainly never from an American. Get up _now!_"

"Nope. Not unless you ask nicely."

"I won't give you the satisfaction."

"Then I'm not budging." Martha folded her arms and smirked up at her British equal. "Come on, Violet. Say the magic word."

Cora rolled her eyes. "Oh, good grief..."

"Now really, this is quite enough!" Robert declared, stepping forward to broach the argument. "Mother, you know as well as I that you'll never get Mama to break like that. If I say it on her behalf, will you get up and put yourself to rights? _Please?_"

Martha appeared to consider the proposal for a moment before bestowing another grin upon her son-in-law. "All right, if you insist." She accepted the hand he extended to her and rose back to her feet, setting her headpiece properly back on her head. "Now _that's _the way to ask nicely – clearly something you learned from your father," she said, shooting a sideways glance at the glowering Dowager Countess.

"Are you implying that I am not a nice person? That is absolutely ridiculous; I'm the nicest person in the world!"

Martha noted with some satisfaction that not even Robert could resist a snicker at that statement; only Carson remained impassive. "Right, Violet. You and Vladimir Lenin."

"You're comparing me to a _communist?_"

"Well, I would compare you to a fascist, but I don't know of any who _could _compare to you."

Violet seethed. "You are so lucky I don't have my..." She abruptly cut herself off, suddenly remembering what she was missing. "Where is my stick?"

Both Robert and Cora pointed to a spot near the earl's desk. Apparently, Violet had either thrown her cane to the side or knocked it across the room in all the kerfuffle. Before Violet could drag Martha with her to retrieve it, though, Carson strode over, knelt down, and lifted it off the rug, holding it out to his lady. "Here you are, Your Ladyship."

"Thank you, Carson. I'm certainly glad to know that you don't find this fiasco amusing, as you were the only one who didn't so much as giggle," Violet said, casting the evil eye upon her son and daughter-in-law as she grasped her cane once more.

"In all seriousness, my lady, handcuffs are no laughing matter," Carson stated, his deep voice a rich rumble. "There's no getting out of them should one lose the key."

"Well, I'm sure she has a key." Violet turned to Martha, her brilliant blue eyes flashing a warning. "Don't you?"

"Of course I've got a key. What do you think I am, stupid?"

"The jury's still out on that one," Violet quipped as Martha motioned for Carson to fetch her clutch purse from the sofa. She as well as three other pairs of eyes watched intently as the redhead dug through the bag, muttering and eventually swearing under her breath. "Shineola," she spat, looking genuinely upset for the first time that day – and nobody had to guess over what.

"The jury has reached a verdict and court is adjourned," Violet said icily, glaring at her adversary. "_Stupid_."

Martha returned the glare evenly. "At least one good thing comes out of my dumb mistake." She held their chained hands up again and shook them so the metal cuffs jangled. "You're not gonna be able to get rid of me so easily. Until these puppies come off, you're stuck with me, sweetheart." Martha relished the expression of pure horror on Violet's face, as well as the fact that, out of the corner of her eye, she could have sworn she saw both Cora and Robert smile. Yes sir, today was going to be fun.


	3. Take These Chains From My Heart

"How long does it take someone to fetch a wretched saw?"

"I don't see why Alfred has to go to all the trouble of getting a saw in the first place. As sharp as your tongue is, you could lick the chain and cut right through it."

"Are you insinuating that I'm tart?"

"It's better than insinuating that you're _a _tart."

"You had better be talking about the pastry."

"You ought to know a lot about pastries. It certainly looks like you eat enough of them."

"If you make one more joke about my weight…"

"What are you gonna do, take me over your knee and spank me?"

"Certainly not! You know I have bad knees."

"Since when?"

"Oh, don't scoff at me. I'm an old woman; I'm fragile."

"Fragile, my behind. You're a tough old bird, is what you are."

"Yes, well… it takes one to know one."

"Yup. The American eagle and the English hawk."

"Was that a compliment?"

"You decide."

Robert and Cora shook their heads as they watched and listened to their mothers trade jibes. "They're really taking the mick out of each other, aren't they?" Robert observed sotto voce in his countess's ear.

"At least they're not beating the stuffing out of each other on the floor," Cora said with a grin. "I wonder if it's too much to hope that spending some time chained together will teach them to get along."

"If that is indeed the case, my dear, you'd better hope that Alfred doesn't find a saw or instead finds one that is duller than a butter knife."

"If wishes were horses…" The earl and countess shared a soft chuckle, but quelled it as Alfred Nugent entered the library with a saw that looked like it had seen better days. Violet took one look at the rust-coated blade and said, nose wrinkled in disgust, "And where did you find _that?_ Some ax-murderer's shed?"

Mild-mannered Alfred blinked and drew back at the sharp rebuke. "N-no, milady. I found it in the toolbox downstairs. It just… hasn't been used in a long time."

"Obviously," Violet said acidly.

"Was it the only one in there?" Martha asked. When Alfred nodded, she shrugged her shoulders and said, "Then you might as well give it a shot."

Violet scoffed. "You must be joking. That thing doesn't look like it could cut through paper, let alone metal!"

When Alfred turned to the countess with a beseeching expression on his face, Cora waved a hand. "Alfred, we're grateful that you're willing to help. Please, do your best."

The lanky footman relaxed when Cora gave him an encouraging smile. "Yes, Lady Grantham." He then turned to the cuffed women on the opposite settee. "Your Ladyship, Mrs. Levinson, may I?"

Martha nodded. "You may, but I think we need a flat surface to do this."

"Before you get any ideas, my desk and the tables are off-limits," Robert interjected firmly. "They're all valuable, hand-carved mahogany and I'll not have a saw come anywhere near them if I can help it."

Very much like her daughter had just a minute before, Martha waved a hand. "Never fear, Robert, the furniture is safe. We'll think of something."

All of a sudden, Alfred's face lit up with inspiration. "I beg everyone's pardon, but I have an idea. I'll be back!" He backed out of the room and returned five minutes later with…

"Alfred, is that Mrs. Patmore's cutting board?" Robert asked, gazing at the pine board in the footman's hands.

"Yes, Your Lordship. She didn't ask too many questions when I said Her Ladyship the Dowager Countess and Mrs. Levinson needed it, although she did look right curious. I thought this might work for that hard surface you were talking about, Mrs. Levinson," Alfred said upon turning to Cora's mother.

Martha beamed. "Alfred, you're a peach."

Unaccustomed to such praise, Alfred blushed to the roots of his fair hair. "Thank you, madam." He then gestured at a nearby table with the board. "With your permission, milord? I think we will need the table to keep it steady, and the board'll protect it."

Robert hesitated for a moment before raising a hand in acquiescence. "Very well, but please be careful." Everyone rose from their seats to gather around the table, where Violet and Martha laid their cuffed hands on the cutting board. Alfred stood before them with the saw posed over the chain that joined the cuffs together. "Ready, Mrs. Levinson?"

"Ready, Freddy," Martha said with a mischievous smile, causing Violet to roll her eyes.

"Ready, Your Ladyship?"

"Yes, Alfred. Please do get on with it."

With a nod to both women, Alfred bent over their hands and drew the saw across the chain; everyone winced and clenched their teeth at the harsh, screeching sound of the blade grating against the steel links. The sawing went on, back and forth, screech, screech, for several minutes, unbroken until…

"Ugh, what is that horrible noise? It's worse than fingernails on a chalkboard!"

They could have scrambled to assume normal positions, but once someone entered the library, whatever scene the newcomer beheld was virtually inescapable. So all five of them were frozen at the sound of a familiar voice, and Lady Edith Crawley froze herself when her eyes fell upon a most unusual sight indeed: her father and mother standing by and watching in bizarre fascination as Alfred Nugent sawed at a pair of handcuffs – which were attached to the wrists of her two grandmothers. It was not an event that one would expect to behold under the decorous roof of Downton Abbey.

"What on Earth is going on here?" Edith raised curious amber eyes to first her mother, and then her father. "Mama, Papa, why are Granny and Grandmama handcuffed together, and why is Alfred trying to cut the chain with a saw?"

Five pairs of eyes looked at each other, obviously trying to come up with some perfectly sane explanation for a perfectly insane moment. After an extremely awkward silence, Robert addressed his middle daughter. "Well… it's a long and peculiar story, Edith…" When he paused to gather his thoughts, the dinner gong sounded from the entrance hall and the earl breathed a sigh of relief. "Which will be better discussed over dinner. Shall we, everyone?"

"No, we shan't!" Violet burst out, turning indignant eyes upon her son. "If you expect us to go in there and suffer through an entire dinner like _this –_" here she raised hers and Martha's cuffed hands and shook them angrily – "You are sorely mistaken! _That woman _is not going to sit beside me at table!"

Now it was Martha's turn to roll her eyes. "Oh, come on, Violet. I'm an American, not some uncivilized savage."

Violet's eyes glittered with ice and the faintest trace of malice as she fixed them on Martha. "Really? I hadn't noticed any difference between the two."

"All right, that is enough!" Robert snapped, his normally good-natured face flushed red with ire. "First of all, we will _all _sit together at dinner and enjoy ourselves as though nothing is out of the ordinary. That means no comments, no staring, and no stabbing each other with forks, knives, or any other implement handy. Secondly, Mama, I believe you owe two people in this room an apology."

Violet started at the demand. "Two people? Who else did I insult other than the one who deserved it?"

The furrow in Robert's forehead deepened. "When you said that there was no difference between an American and an uncivilized savage, you not only insulted my mother-in-law, but my wife as well. Or have you conveniently forgotten that she, too, is American?"

Shock flitted across Violet's face for the briefest of seconds before she composed herself into coolness once more. "No… no, I hadn't forgotten." She turned to her daughter-in-law with a modicum of shame apparent in her demeanor. "I'm sorry, Cora. Do forgive me."

Cora's smile was slightly stiff. "Of course, Mama."

"And?" Robert prompted, nodding toward Martha.

Violet gave a longsuffering sigh. "Can you forgive me, Mrs. Levinson?" she asked curtly.

The corner of Martha's mouth quirked upward. "As long as you don't stab me with a fork, I'll forgive you… this once." She grinned and frog-marched Violet along with her as the family departed for the dining room.


End file.
